


Nothing To Do

by Awesome_Sauce432



Series: Post Episode Fun Times [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Not Very Successful, Post Episode 69, Probably Not Healthy Coping Mechanisms, These Guys Are All A Mess, attempted comfort, don't mind me i'm just crying, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 10:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesome_Sauce432/pseuds/Awesome_Sauce432
Summary: The Mighty Nein has finally left the ruins beneath Bazzoxan, sans one member. None of them are handling it well.  Jester wants comfort, Fjord wants answers and Beau just wants something to punch.It's going to be a long night.





	1. Jester

By the time they reached Bazzoxan, Jester wasn’t sure how she still had tears left to cry. Her cheeks were wet and hot, the longest parts of her bangs sticking to the side of her head where she had tried to wipe away some of the tears.

The hurried, frantic discussion they’d had on what to do once they’d left the stupid temple seemed to have left them with no clearer path on what to do next than when they’d started, and no one seemed inclined to try and start it up again once they’d gotten to the town. 

The sun was still drifting in the sky, lazily making its path towards the horizon, but they were nowhere close to nighttime yet, not close enough to the escape of their beds, where they wouldn’t have to look around at the rest of their party and remember that there was one missing.

When they’d arrived in Bazzoxan they’d received nothing but stares, and understandably so. Half of them were crying or trying very hard to look like they weren’t. Caduceus, Beau and Fjord were practically drenched in blood, both their own and others, Beau and Fjord, in particular, leaning on the others or on the moorbounders, while Caduceus held onto his staff tight with both hands as he walked.

The citizens and soldiers of the town were either put off by the blood and injuries, or they could sense the grief and defeat that radiated off of them in waves. Whatever it was, they almost seemed to part to let them through, watching with wide eyes but saying nothing. Jester was thankful for it, however small a mercy it was. They were all so tightly wound, she didn’t think they’d be able to handle any kind of questioning.

All Jester could think about was the look on Yasha’s face, the _sneer_ as the door had shut behind her, trapping her inside the tomb with a monster. Yasha, her _friend_. One of the Mighty Nein. Jester’s own voice, her final heartbroken plea for her friend echoed in her ears, the tears welling up in her eyes once again.

The sibling duo at the Ready Room said nothing, pointing them up towards the rooms they’d had before and giving them timid directions to a room in the back of the inn where they would be able to find a bath.

“Thank you.” Jester’s voice wavered, and she bit her lip, trying and failing to muster up a convincing smile.

Heading towards the stairs, Fjord muttered about taking a bath, brushing past them all with stiff shoulders and his face contorted into a frown that had set in somewhere on the ride here and had yet to lift.

The rest of them trudged up the stairs, Caduceus resting a hand on Caleb’s shoulders, whether for comfort or support (both? Neither?) she couldn’t tell. Nott had stuck close to Jester since getting off the moorbounders, wiping at her eyes and holding her flask with a pale-knuckled grip, and that just made Jester’s heart clench all over again.

What had been the point of taking the flask from her? The tiny concession she’d been able to convince Nott to make felt so hollow now in the face of what had happened to them barely an hour later. With her flask or without her flask Nott hadn’t been able to stop whatever happened to Yasha. None of them had been able to stop Obann from releasing that monster. None of them had been able to get away unscathed. One of them hadn’t gotten away at all.

Jester found the room that she and Beau had shared. Nott silently slunk away, her hand tracing over the hem of Jester’s dress for a moment before she headed towards Caleb’s room, her head hung low. Beau’s footsteps were heavy as she walked inside, tearing off her lightning gloves and bracers and bloodied, stained hand wrappings, tossing them into a corner. There were ugly gashes and wounds on her shoulders and torso, her jacket ripped nearly in two. She’d hardly looked at Jester since they’d gotten there. Had hardly looked at anyone.

It felt like her heart was breaking all over again with each passing moment. It felt so _wrong_. They’d been in danger before, they’d been in terrible danger before. They’d had their friends turned against them with magic. But she’d never left anyone behind. No matter what, there had always been a way to get everyone out safely. Maybe not whole, but out.

Was this how it had felt when Molly had died? Was this how Beau and Nott and Caleb had felt, watching their friend slip away in front of them, helpless to do anything but scream and cry and reach out their hand? Jester had only been able to see the aftermath of that, that entire time bundled up in the turmoil of… everything. Somehow, after that, they’d been able to band together.

They’d ended up stronger, she thought. Strong enough that it wouldn’t happen again. If one of them died, well this time Jester and Caduceus would be there to bring them back. It. Wouldn’t. Happen. Again.

But it did.

Sniffing, Jester wiped the fresh tears from her eyes, gentling dropping her haversack onto the ground at the end of her bed, settling her weapons and shield beside it. There was blood on her clothes, her arms and her hands. Was some of it Yasha’s?

Without a word, Beau turned around and headed towards the door, her face tight and her eyes downcast. A pang of panic jumped into Jester’s throat, memories of Beau drifting in and out of inns before, usually coming back with a bloodied nose or split lip or twisted wrist that Jester would tut at and heal with only minor ribbing.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was quiet, feeling heavy even as she tried her best to inject some lightness into it. Tried not to sound so… defeated.

Beau hesitated, not answering for a moment before running a hand through her hair, half of it coming out of its ribbon. “I-I need to just… I want to just go and be alone for a bit, okay?”

Usually, Jester could respect that. Beau was strong and independent, and sometimes she liked to go out and punch trees or something by herself to let off some steam. But right now, the last thing Jester wanted was for any of them to leave. To be alone in a room.

“Please don’t.” She whispered, reaching out a hand and letting her fingers brush against Beau’s. “Please don’t go anywhere.”

When she looked up Beau’s eyes were red, her gaze set firmly on the door. She didn’t take another step forward, and for a time they just stood there stiffly. Jester felt Beau’s fingers begin to shake ever so slightly, but the monk's expression didn’t change.

Finally, Beau turned to Jester, her shoulders deflating. When she spoke, it was raspy and monotonous, and not at all convincing. “She said to leave her behind if something happened.”

“We tried.” Jester sniffed, wiping her eyes again. “W-we tried, and we couldn’t get her.”

She couldn’t hold herself back anymore. Bridging the gap between the two of them, Jester looped her arms around Beau’s waist, pulling herself in close and burying her face into her shoulder. Beau stumbled — and normally she wouldn’t stumble, she was so hurt that she was stumbling but Jester hardly had any spells left to heal her — before catching herself, her own arms slowly curling around Jester. Not holding her tight, but there.

“She’s all alone and hurt and in trouble and we left her!” Jester hiccupped. “There’s some weird magic or Obann did something to her or something…”

She choked back an ugly sob, hands holding on tight to the fabric of Beau’s torn jacket. “That wasn’t her. That wasn’t Yasha.”

Beau said nothing in the way of affirming or denying that final statement. She simply stood there, stiff and unsteady, like she just didn’t know what to do.

None of them knew what to do. Usually, in times like this, Jester would try to find a bright side. Think about ways to save Yasha, to get her back. But her mind was coming up empty, her memory stuck on that sneer, that glare, the blade coming up and down over and over on the rest on her friends.

Perhaps solutions would come to them later. Perhaps in the morning one of them would have a brilliant idea, and they’d make a plan, and everything would go perfectly and Yasha would be back with them safe and sound by the end of the week. Perhaps that would happen.

But right now, they weren’t even close to that. Right now there was nothing but grief, anger, and regret.


	2. Fjord

_“I hear you.”_

The voice had been quiet. Almost inaudible, amongst the sounds of swords and claws ripping into flesh, banging against steel, against the shouts and cries from the combatants, against everything. It had been quiet, almost distant, disembodied from the cold, sneering smirk plastered on the face of someone Fjord had trusted.

It had been quiet, but he had heard it.

It reverberated in his head, replaying alongside countless other moments from the past few hours in vivid detail, flashing by somehow fast and slow at the same time. The blasts he’d fired at Obann before he had summoned that hideous behemoth. The language he’d spoken, the guttural words that Yasha had answered in kind. It had sounded like she was asking a question, but what if it had been something else? What if she had been promising to help him?

She’d said she heard him, heard him pleading with her to snap out of it. Out of whatever charm that had been placed on her. He’d looked around to see who was pulling the strings, but there was no one. Obann had been dead by that point, nothing but goop on the ground. The behemoth hadn’t used any magic as far as Fjord as seen. There had just been Yasha with nothing but coldness in her eyes as she continued to attack them again and again.

There had been no one telling her what to do, and Fjord had nearly died. For a moment, he thought he would. He was going to die, and it wasn’t going to be from some monster or horrifying creature. It was going to be from Yasha.

Beau had had to pulled away from being sliced or crushed to death, and then she had nearly gotten trapped getting them out. If she hadn’t been able to squeeze her way through those closing doors, she’d have been dead. Because she’d come back for him. To save him from Yasha.

His hands balled into fists, as he stomped up the stairs towards his room. He’d had a bath, his stained and torn armour bundled under his arms, his hair still dripping. It didn’t feel like he was any cleaner. If anything, washing away the blood and grime had just made him feel worse, even if he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Assuming that Caleb had grabbed the same one they’d had previously, he knocked just once before opening the door. Sure enough, Caleb was perched on one of the beds, a small pile of books open in front of him. Nott was at the end of the bed, taking slow, small sips from her flask and looking at some point on the ground.

Fjord glanced at the flask for a moment, before shaking his head and moving to his bed. Fuck it, who cared if Nott had alcohol at the moment or not. Hell, he’d probably ask her for a swig. It had been a shitty day.

The shutters on the window were half-open, allowing Fjord to see outside. He must’ve stewed longer in the bath than he thought, for the sun had slipped closer to the horizon, the sky beginning to take on shades of pinks and oranges. It would be nighttime soon.

Fjord was dreading it. The last thing he wanted was sleep. The last thing he wanted were dreams.He just wanted… he wanted fucking answers. He wanted to know what the fuck happened down there.

Neither Nott nor Caleb said anything to him, and only Caleb even lifted his head in a slight acknowledgement as he entered the room. Dumping his armour and bags on the floor, he sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

He was livid. His entire life he’d dealt with people lying to him. People treating him like shit, people trying to use him for something they thought he could provide. He’d had people betray him before. Sabien had done it. Perhaps Vandren had done it too. Who know. Apparently he was alive, somewhere in the fucking world. Either way Fjord was alone, so what was the difference.

But with the Mighty Nein, he’d convinced himself that these guys wouldn’t betray him. It took him a while, but eventually these assholes (and Jester and Cad, who weren’t really assholes as much) had grown on him. They’d fought fight after fight, and shit happened, and tensions flared, but they didn’t betray each other. They didn’t stab him in the back or set off a bomb in his face or vanish. They actually came after him after he got kidnapped. They were friends. A kind of family.

Then Yasha meets up with some asshole with tales of how he knew her, and what felt like seconds later, suddenly she was on his side. After he was dead, she continued to fight them. She didn’t shake off a charm and apologise, or turn around to stab the giant monster that was still around. She continued to attack them.

“Jeez Fjord, you’re gonna burn a hole in the ground.” Nott’s dry, raspy voice cut through Fjord’s thoughts, and he looked up, seeing her glancing lazily at him, her legs swinging off the side of Caleb’s bed.

“You’re drunk.” Fjord muttered, not caring if she actually was or not. Caleb glanced at the both of them, but didn’t seem inclined to pipe in as well, lifting up one of the open books and leaning back against the wall, almost shutting himself away from the rest of the room.

“And Yasha’s stuck in a tomb.” Nott said bitterly, narrowing her eyes at the way both Fjord and Caleb twitched. “We left her.”

“She attacked us.” Fjord snapped back. “What… what the fuck else were we supposed to do.”

“Snap her out of it! She was _obviously_ being mind controlled or something fucky...” Nott took a quick swig from her flask, seeming not at all satisfied by it. “We left her behind.”

“If we’d stayed, one of us would’ve died. Probably more than one of us.” Fjord said. Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood for an argument with Nott. But at the same time, there was a storm bubbling inside of him, waves of too many emotions to separate and decipher tumbling over and over. Letting at least a little bit out felt… relieving.

“We coulda done it.” Nott muttered, and now Fjord narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t believe that.” He said, pressing on before Nott could say anything else. “If we’d stayed, Caduceus would definitely be down. _Again_.” He saw Nott look away quickly, but didn’t pause. “I’d have been fucked, Beau probably would’ve been too, and do you really think you would be able to pull Jester away if three of us went down?”

He leaned backwards, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “I tried to get Yasha out of there. I Thunderstepped the whole way out. But she didn’t want to go. She was going to take us all down with her.”

“You don’t think she was mind controlled?” Nott stared him down, looking completely serious for the first time in this conversation. “You think she actually betrayed us, don’t you? You said so once we got out.”

_“I hear you_.”

Fjord grit his teeth together, forcing himself not to tear his gaze away from Nott’s, distantly feeling Caleb’s eyes on them both, flickering between them.

He wasn’t sure he could afford to think Yasha was mind controlled. Because if she was, and they really just left her down there… then what did that make him? 

“Look at the _facts_ , Nott. She was fighting us practically the whole time. Obann couldn’t control her if he’s dead.”

“Maybe he can! You don’t know that!” Nott slammed her flask down next to her for emphasis. “She’s our friend!”

“Is she? She could’ve been playing the long game this entire time, luring us to try and find her old friends to raise up that fucking monster! We don’t know jack shit about her.” Fjord finally looked away, her fists so tight his knuckles had gone pale.

He was fully aware of the hypocrisy in that. This was a group full of people who had hid things, who had lies and layers of half-truths. Fjord still didn’t know Beau’s last name. Nott and Caleb were fake names. Caduceus hadn’t even told anyone how many siblings he had. Jester was perhaps the only one among them who didn’t have some dark story lurking in their past, something they kept hidden until it was no longer possible.

They all had secrets, some far more hidden than others. But it was one thing to have secrets. It was another to lie to them, to betray him. He couldn’t be sure that Yasha hadn’t done that. And for as long as there was that uncertainty, he couldn’t believe that it was all just a mistake.

Who’s to say she wasn’t still playing them? Perhaps even that small whisper to him had been a trick, to convince him to come back with the others eventually, to lure him into a larger and deadlier trap.

“ _I hear you”_ She’d said.

He couldn’t allow himself to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am still deceased
> 
> anyway fjord is my son and while he certainly came off as a bit of a dick at the end of the episode, From His Perspective it makes sense why he assumes yasha's probably gone rogue. basically, i have feelings. 
> 
> also im still upset oof big oof


	3. Beau

Beau stared at the wall, feeling like more of her blood was outside her body rather than in it. She had yet to take a bath to wash any of it off, like Fjord and probably Caduceus had done. Jester was lying on her bed, curled up on top of the blankets with tearstains running down her cheeks, one hand clasped in Beau’s.

The sun had properly set by now, with only moonlight filtered through the slits on the shutters, casting parallel shadows on the room. Dinnertime had come and gone, but Beau wasn’t hungry, even though it had been so long since she’d eaten something.

Silently, carefully, she slipped her fingers out from Jester’s, looking at her friends face, peaceful for the first time all day. There were scratches and flecks of dried blood on her face, but just from that picture, you wouldn’t be able to imagine what had happened to them that day.

Beau stood up, shrugging her mostly ruined jacket off her shoulders and laying it haphazardly on her bed. Injuries that hadn’t yet been healed sent jolts of pain coursing through her, but even those felt distant, dulled. She’d had worse. In the morning Jester would probably insist of healing up anything that hadn’t healed itself overnight, but right now Beau relished in the pain. At least it was something.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she opened the door to their room, listening to each thud of her boots as they hit the wooden floors. She passed by Caleb and Fjord’s (and technically Nott’s) room, passed by Yasha and Caduceus’ room. Well, just Caduceus’ now.

Her next exhale was shuddering, her hands stiffening into fists.

They’d always known it was a possibility, that something terrible would happen and they’d lose Yasha. They may not have said it directly, but they’d thought about it. Yasha had said to leave her behind. To not sacrifice themselves for her.

Beau had imagined it wouldn’t come to that, bit if it did, she hadn’t planned on leaving. It was Yasha’s choice to be in front, Yasha’s choice to want to be left behind. But it was Beau’s choice to not leave her behind. What a fat lot of good that had ended up doing.

But in the end, it wasn’t her fault. In the end, she wasn’t responsible for Yasha. Whatever had happened down there, whatever had caused Yasha to attack them — she didn’t want to believe Yasha had betrayed them. But she couldn’t exclude the possibility, and that grey area was just painful — it wasn’t… it wasn’t her responsibility. This wasn’t her fault.

The downstairs floor of the inn was empty, nothing but flickering candles keeping the darkness at bay and counters unattended. Almost mechanically, Beau headed towards the back where the owners had said the bathroom was. When she got there, there was no longer a large tub full of water, only a smaller bucket underneath a mirror, a single towel next to it. She’d waited too long, she supposed.

Washing her hands, revealing the calloused skin underneath, Beau looked at herself in the mirror.Her eyes weren’t as red as they had been, tear tracks cutting through dried blood the only real evidence remaining that she’d cried at all.

She wasn’t responsible. Yasha had always kept herself at arm's length. That’s just who she was. If she wanted to betray them, that wasn’t Beau’s fault.

It felt like an eternity to clean off her face, carelessly dabbing the edges of cuts that had only barely stopped bleeding until she was just left staring at herself. Her lip was split and her hair was loose and still caked with filth, not to mention the rest of her.

In the mirror, she just stared at herself blankly, searching for any sign of the emotions that she knew were drumming beneath the surface, twisting and fuming and looking for an escape. They made her fingers twitch, made the hair on her arms stand on end. But on her face, she could see nothing but a stubborn scowl.

Her fists tightened, nails digging into her palms. She turned away from the mirror, leaving the room behind her and wandering the hallway until she found a back entrance. The chilly night air hit her face and bare arms and she inhaled slowly, closing her eyes and focusing on the cold sting on her skin.

She tried not to think about what Yasha was doing now. If she was still alive. Perhaps she was still trapped underneath Bazzoxan. Perhaps she regretted betraying them. Or perhaps she was brainwashed after all. Beau didn’t know which option made her feel worse.

But Yasha had said to leave her behind. It was her choice. Her decisions.

She shouldn’t feel guilty. She should feel… she didn’t know what she should feel. She couldn’t even pin down what she _did_ feel. She didn’t even think she was feeling it properly.

Beau found herself in front of a wall, a cobblestone wall outlining some building she didn’t care about. She wasn’t wearing her bracers or even her wrappings. At that moment, she didn’t care.

The jolt of pain from a fist hitting stone was sharp and oh-so-satisfying, cutting neatly through the mess that was the rest of her right now. The second hit even more so. The third. The fourth.

Wasn’t her responsibility, Beau told herself between punches.

Wasn’t her fault.

Her only job was to keep herself and the rest of the Nein alive, she thought as the skin on her knuckles tore.

She’d done that. That was a success.

Yasha accepted what she was getting into. She’d told them to leave if the risk outweighed the benefit, she muttered under her breath as fresh blood began to stain the walls.

What benefit? The only possible benefit had been to help Yasha sort out her past. Then her past had tried to kill them.

Beau’s hands dropped to her side, her shoulders vibrating. She could feel her knees begin to buckle, and she sat down. They hadn’t been defeated like this since… well, since Molly. They’d lost battles before, they’d had to run before. But almost always, there had been something on the other side, something they’d been able to snatch up as they bolted to the hills.

But now Yasha was just gone. Not the same way Molly was gone (yet) but gone nonetheless.

That hadn’t been her fault either, not really. Her brain had replayed different scenarios for days on end, different decisions she could have made, different things she could’ve done, but in the end, it had been Molly’s decision to jump into the fray. It had been Yasha’s decision to go down into Bazzoxan.

It hadn’t been her responsibility to stop them from making reckless decisions.

But she still felt like shit.

Holding up her hands, where they had been freshly cleaned her knuckles were now smeared with blood again, slowly seeping between her fingers and down the back of her hands. It had felt better in the moment, but now she could feel the temporary thrill fade away, the reality of all of it once again setting it. Punching walls all night wouldn’t get Yasha back. It wouldn’t make Jester feel better or give them all a plan.

She stood up, walking back into the inn and up the stairs. Silence surrounded her, her knuckles beginning to ache, a shiver running up her spine. She welcomed the discomfort, slowly opening up the door to see Jester still sleeping, but a tiny frown on her face, her tail flicking backward and forwards.

It felt like she wasn’t really directing her body, her mind watching absently as she picked up one of the blankets on her own bed, draping it over Jester. She was still frowning, but the warmth might offer some comfort. Perhaps better than Beau could provide.

After spending some time outside, the chill of the night had stuck to Beau’s bones and, now lacking a blanket, she knew she probably wouldn’t get warm that night. But she didn’t care. In the morning, they’d have to get up and pull themselves together and do _something_. For tonight, she was aimless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy am i terrifed for what will happen after the break
> 
> anyway this concludes my regular Post Episode Panic thank for coming everyone

**Author's Note:**

> are you suffering? because i'm suffering
> 
> im suffering so much I've got enough Post Episode Angst for THREE whole chapters
> 
> THATS RIGHT FOLKS THERE'S GONNA BE MORE WHERE THIS CAME FROM IN THE UPCOMING HOURS GET HYPED
> 
> *sobbing* 
> 
> look i love this trio so much and all three of them reacted in such different ways and i have FEELINGS ABOUT THEM ALL OKAY


End file.
